


The Nature and Notion of Naiads

by DeanJHarrison



Series: Prompts! [2]
Category: Grimm (TV), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: (Some of them) - Freeform, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Book 4: Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, Creature Fic, Creature Inheritance, Definitely Lucius Bashing Tho, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Found Family, M/M, No Dumbledore Bashing, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Protective Blaise Zabini, Protective Crabbe and Goyle, Protective Dumbledore, Protective Harry Potter, Protective Remus Lupin, Protective Ron Weasley, Protective Sirius Black, Protective basically everyone mentioned in the character tag, Queer Characters, Snarky but Good Slytherins, Starting at:, Supportive Harry Potter, Tags May Change, The Great Lake | The Black Lake (Harry Potter), Wesen, no ron bashing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-23
Updated: 2020-06-23
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:40:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24878593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeanJHarrison/pseuds/DeanJHarrison
Summary: A closely held secret has made the Malfoy bloodline not as pure as the world believes. After skipping several generations, Draco Malfoy gets a nasty shock when he receives a creature-inheritance. Coming to terms with being a half-breed is no easy feat for Draco, and he has to learn to accept exactly what "unconditional" love and self-love is.Luckily, and from unexpected sources, it turns out there are people in his life who would rather see him alive and a half-breed than to clean and purify the Malfoy bloodline.___Prompt messaged to me from anonymous: "You should do a crossover with HP-verse and Grimm-verse, but about wesen in the HP-verse and enemies-to-lovers drarry"Please note: You do *not* need to know or have seen Grimm to read this.*******JKR has been cancelled. This author wants everyone to know that this is a safe space, trans rights are human rights, terfs will NOT be tolerated, and HP is strictly ours now. Don't let some woman who has fallen for the same folly as her own antagonists ruin the beloved book series or make you doubt yourself. You are loved and supported!
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Series: Prompts! [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1799407
Comments: 20
Kudos: 60





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Greetings and thank you so much for clicking on this!  
> While this is technically a crossover, you do not need to have seen or have any knowledge about Grimm (TV) to read. I've been working hard at explaining the wesen concept in the narration. There will not be any characters or the like from the show in this.  
> If anything, this is what you should know: wesen (pronounced ves-sin) is a concept taken from Grimm who are parahuman, or in this context half-breeds, who carry two distinct sets of DNA. Woge (pronounced voh-ga) is a term for when their creature-characteristics are surfaced.
> 
> The goal here is to post every Tuesday.

_Wiltshire, 1676_

Nicholas Malfoy stared in horror at his informant for a full minute before, quick as a blink, he flicked his wand and killed her—in sheer utter incredulity to the information. 

He knew his son was having an affair, knew his grandson wasn't just conveniently born before his daughter-in-law died—which was practically impossible to prove. He knew because he knew his son and always knew when his son had been lying.

Nicholas had been assuming it was a half-blood, most likely having fooled his son Aarav into thinking she was pure. At worst—at the very worst that he could barely conceive the idea—a Mudblood. He had shivered and quickly dismissed the thought that the mother of his grandson could be a _Muggle_ , for their blood's sake. That blatantly ridiculous worry was immediately soothed when Aarav saw his outlines for using the new strain of the Black Death to dispatch Muggle tenants in the area. Surely, if Aarav had lost his mind and shagged a Muggle, he would have shown at least a little something. At the very least showed more interest toward the proof Nicholas had that wizards were immune to the Black Death—perhaps give a one worried look to his son. No, he was confident the child's mother wasn't _Muggle_.

It never once even slightly occurred to him that the mother would be a _creature_.

"Such betrayal," he breathed, hand coming up to cover his mouth. Two of his guards had come in at the signs of the Killing Curse to drag away the body, not looking at him. Nicholas ignored them, too, to come to sit by his fire.

"Sir?" his valet asked, no doubt also tipped off with the Killing Curse.

"Where is Aarav?"

"Gone, sir," his valet answered.

Nicholas snapped his head to him. "Excuse me?"

"I was on my way to give you this," his valet said with only a slight flinch. He held out a scroll. "Aarav and his child left this morning. They sent this all around the Manor before it was given to me to deliver."

Nicholas knew his valet wasn't stupid, and that he knew just as Nicholas did that it was a purposeful ploy to give them time to run. Wanting to spit fire, Nicholas snatched the scroll and read it quickly.

The valet waited a respectable amount of time after Nicholas swore loudly, threw the scroll in the fire, and began cursing furniture. "Sir?"

"They've left. They'll already be in hiding. He's protecting that… that..."

"Mmh, yes, that—which still has Malfoy blood."

Nicholas scowled. 

"Whatever _that_ is," his valet continued, "he'll still carry on the name."

"Indeed," Nicholas growled. "Until we clean the bloodline."

If the valet was surprised, he didn't let it show. He took his next orders with grace and left the room. 

However, tried as they might, they never found Aarav and his son. 

Nicholas never confirmed exactly what that informant had told him, and mostly, those who worked for the family assumed the child's mother was a half-blood. When Nicholas died and Aarav came back to take over the family, they all politely looked the other way, and it was never spoken of again. Before he died, though, Nicholas Malfoy penned a missive to whoever would be the Master of the Manor seven to nine generations from then to warn that a creature would present in the family. Years later, the Manor would be set on fire during a riot in one of the goblin wars, and the hidden missive would burn. 

This was precisely why and how Draco Lucius Malfoy got a nasty surprise during his fourth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.


	2. Something's Wrong

Draco was _thirsty_. And hot. 

He was sitting in the Potions lab telling himself to focus. To concentrate. It was starting to get ridiculous—really, it was. At first, he didn't think twice about how much he started drinking water during meals. It was Greg's comment that Draco must piss like a racehorse for Draco to realise that, despite how much he drank, no, he didn't. Clearly, his body was absorbing the water, and he told himself he must have just been dehydrated. 

That was around the Yule Ball, and now it was the end of January. He couldn't figure it out, what was making him so dehydrated. It was embarrassing enough as it was, with the others noticing he drank practically a whole pitcher of water at every single meal. But it was just getting worse and worse. He was now carrying around a travel goblet, only taking sips from it when he knew no one was looking. Which he could deal with, sure, but this… 

He scowled at the boiling potion in his cauldron. It was thinner than it was supposed to be, making the clear liquid look too much like water. This whole thing—it was ridiculous—because something inside him was _screaming_ that boiling water was just _wrong_.

"Not my fault," Blaise, his current Potions partner, said to his expression.

"I don't care about the bloody potion," Draco hissed at him. 

Blaise seemed briefly surprised at his venomous tone but merely shrugged and looked away.

Draco took a breath, telling himself that this was ridiculous. He was being _ridiculous_.

That was it—after Potions, he was going to the hospital wing. Again.

"Who here can tell me the importance of adding the drops of frog blood last?" Professor Snape asked the class. 

Draco didn't have to look around to know Granger's hand was high in the air.

"Mr Longbottom?" Professor Snape chose to torture instead. 

Draco closed his eyes. His skin felt hot. Sweat beaded his brow. It was just the potions, he told himself. The heat from making the potions. That had to be it, that was why he was extra thirsty right then, that was why he felt hot. Just the potions. 

Merlin, how he longed to pull out his travel goblet and drain the whole thing. 

"Very good," Professor Snape praised, and Draco jumped, not realising he had come to stand in front of them. It would seem while Draco was trying to focus on _not_ focusing on how miserable he was, Blaise had fixed whatever they had done wrong. Now the clear liquid was thick, almost like slime. 

"Thank you, sir," Blaise said automatically. 

Professor Snape gave a sharp nod, moving to walk away, but paused to frown at Draco. Lowering his voice, he asked quietly, "Are you quite well?"

"Yes, sir." Draco straightened. "Of course, sir. Just a bit warm."

Professor Snape hummed, looking at him critically. Then he moved on.

"Warm," Blaise mocked, tone thick with posh.

"What?" Draco shrugged, adjusting his focus to organising his things to put away. "I am."

"Right," Blaise drawled. "That's why you're two shades paler than normal." 

Draco froze. "What?" 

Blaise raised an eyebrow and turned a big spoon over in his hand to show Draco a distorted reflection. Draco was indeed very pale. 

"Blast," he hissed. Now he went and looked like a fool to Professor Snape.

Blaise merely chuckled. "Go turn in our potion, I'll put these away." 

Draco gave Blaise a thankful look, spooned their potion into a few vials, and hurried to the side table to sort them. So focused again on _not_ focusing on how hot and thirsty he was, he bumped into someone. 

"Sorry," he mumbled, stepping around them. 

Whoever they were snorted hatefully at him, but Draco continued on his way, depositing the vials to be graded. He scooted down to the corner, turned his back to the room, and snuck out his travel goblet from his robe's pocket. He felt dismayed when he looked down at it—it was empty. That was right, he drained it when he went to one of the ingredient cupboards— _blast, blast, blast._

Draco had never been a very patient person and now wasn't any different. He saddled along the wall, avoiding the other students who were noisily getting packed to leave, and went over to the sink basin. He turned on the cool water, and immediately, his heart picked up in excitement. He ignored it and barely restrained just sticking his head under the flow. Instead, he cupped his hands under it, loving the coolness, then ducked to take a few healthy gulps. 

Merlin, that was satisfying. Just satisfying enough to get his wits about him; he straightened, turned off the faucet, and casually picked up a cloth to dry his hands. He peeked over his shoulder, but the only person who seemed to have seen was bloody Potter, and like Potter wasn't philistine enough to drink from a sink anyway. 

He smoothed out his tie and walked back to where Blaise was already packed and leaving. Blaise had neatly stacked Draco's supplies, and Draco packed them and waited off to the side for Greg and Vin. 

Shower. What he really wanted was a really cold, long shower. 

"You alright?" Vinny asked, coming up to him with Greg in tow. 

"No. I'm going to the hospital wing. You two should go on to lunch."

"What's wrong?" Greg asked, looking concerned. 

"Just a bit warm. Better safe than sorry," Draco said easily, not wanting to worry them. At the same time, this ridiculousness had to stop. "Go on, I'll join you soon."

"We'll save you some water," Vinny said seriously. 

Draco snorted. "Right. Thanks." 

He watched them go, dragging his feet behind them. They were one of the last to leave, so he simply slowed his pace more and more until most everyone was already in the Great Hall, then he made his way up the marble staircase.

As he walked to the hospital wing, what was going to be his third visit for the month, he thought over his symptoms—because they had to be symptoms, right? It was honestly hard to pinpoint. Draco had avoidance and denial down to an art, could probably convince himself of things quicker and more efficiently than he could other people, so it was hard to think back to how things got this bad.

The hospital wing was empty when he entered. He honestly didn't have much experience in the hospital wing. The longest he spent there was the year previous when that nasty creature sliced at his arm. He milked that for all it was worth, and he found the hospital wing reasonably comfortable. Not so much when the matron was there, but without her, comfortable enough to be getting on with. 

Which, that proposed another problem… getting Madam Pomfrey to believe him.

He knocked on her office door, wondering if this was worth it, but his self-preservation was making him stand his ground anyway.

Madam Pomfrey opened her door and narrowed her eyes. "Yes, Mr Malfoy?"

"There's something wrong with me. I know there is."

He could tell she just barely kept from rolling her eyes. "Mr Malfoy, I have checked you over twice now, and I have found nothing—"

" _Please_ , there's something _wrong_."

She crossed her arms. "I'm very busy, Mr Malfoy. I don't have time to humour the antics of—"

"They aren't antics, I _swear_. This isn't like last year—and yes, yes, I will admit I was faking most of it if that will get you to listen to me now. Please. Something is wrong with me—this isn't normal. You have to fix me!"

He was obviously starting to get desperate, and it must have shown. She considered him then pointed to a bed. Draco rushed to it, sitting readily. She came to stand in front of him, arms still crossed.

"Does this still have to do with you being convinced you're dehydrated?"

Draco nodded. "Yes, yes it does. I'm telling you, this isn't normal. I'm thirsty _all the time_ , and I keep getting hot—like I have a fever. I know I must. It's just, it's just… _water_ ," he tried to explain without sounding barking. "It's just something about _water_ , I can't explain it. I mean look, look how dry my skin is," he showed her his hands, "and my lips too. I can't go more than a few minutes without wanting to just chug water—I keep having dreams about water—which sounds insane, I know, but trust me, it's so much weirder experiencing it."

"So, you're thirsty and might have a fever." She put a hand to his forehead and frowned. "Actually, you are a bit warm." She waved her wand over him, and he fought a shiver. He had to be imagining it lately—sometimes he thought he could _feel_ magic. Or, feel it differently, and so much more intensely. Whatever her spell told her, her eyebrows shot up. "You are very dehydrated indeed, Mr Malfoy. The fever is a bit high, but not worrisome currently."

She held up a finger, telling him to wait, and disappeared into her office. He must have been very dehydrated this time. The last two times, she just told him he was slightly dehydrated, nothing a couple of glasses of water wouldn't fix.

She didn't believe him when he said he had already drunk a couple of _pitchers_.

"Here we are," she said coming back. She handed Draco a potion. "Take this, and that should clear you up. Must be the weather."

Draco snorted disbelieving at her but uncorked the vial. The smell of the potion hit him hard, and his head jerked back. "Blah, gah, no!" he protested, corking it again. "That smells vile, I can't possibly—"

Madam Pomfrey's hands were on her hips immediately. "You can and you will if you want me to fix your problem."

He scowled at her. They stared at one another for a long moment, but Draco's discomfort won out. He opened the vial again, and, pinching his nose, tossed back the potion. It tasted viler than it smelled, and Draco was seriously worried he was going to be sick for several long moments. He clutched his stomach and scrunched his eyes.

Madam Pomfrey tsked at him. "No need to be so dramatic, Mr Malfoy. It's only a hydrating potion that should also help reduce your fever. It's not that bad."

 _Speak for yourself_ , he thought but couldn't say. It took all his strength to try to force a normal reaction and hand her back the vial.

"There you are," she said stiffly. "Off you go. A good lunch will do you some good."

He scowled at her again, but apparently, that was all the help he was going to get. It was more than the last two times, at least. Draco struggled to stand, the potion heavy in his stomach, and slowly made his way out of the room.

He only got one floor down before he was bolting to the closest toilet and hurling. The potion, if possible, was vilest coming back up, and by the time he was left just panting over the toilet bowl, he was so thirsty and hot, he almost wished for death. 

He was sick—something was _wrong._

"What…?" he asked the toilet. 

He stumbled to the sink, to rinse out his mouth and splash his face, but the moment he smelled the water, he almost lost it. It felt like the potion dehydrated him more, if possible. He didn't realise how _dry_ he felt until he smelled the water—a fact which he firmly told himself not to shove away altogether, to think on it later. 

Unable to stop himself, he plunged his head another the faucet and moaned.

He released a relieved sigh, leaning back enough to splash his face and slurp water from his cupped hands. He then stuck his head under the faucet again. The cold water felt incredible to his hot skin, and he didn't know how long he stayed like that, only pulling back enough to splash his face again or to gulp on the water. By the time he got his wits together enough to realise what he was doing—and that it was _insane_ —he became conscious that he had missed not just lunch but his next class.

He looked at his reflection, white-blond hair dripping and flat, the front of his robes and the sleeves positively soaked through, and him, his skin, looking somehow refreshed.

"What the fuck?" he asked himself. 

Unsurprisingly, his reflection just gaped back.

____________

Despite Draco deciding to resolutely avoid thinking about what he did and why he missed class, he could admit to himself that he felt a million times better. His back and legs were still itchy, but it was tolerable. Vinny and Greg attributed his better health and mood to his hospital wing visit, and he didn't correct them.

That night, the three were in the library. Draco had already done his Transfiguration essay and Charms homework, but as usual, he got it done quickly because he knew his two closest friends were going to need re-teaching and a lot of help. 

Usually, Draco spent this time while they stumbled to follow his instructions by doing extra reading, getting ahead of his other assignments, or doing his own projects, such as creating Potter Stink badges. He was still proud of those—the charms weren't easy. That night, he was looking through Healer books while Vinny and Greg were writing an essay on a Transfiguration that was technically in last year's curriculum. Professor McGonagall generally assigned them extra credit like this to prepare them for upcoming lessons.

"Draco," Vinny said, frowning deeply and scratching his head, "I don't understand this."

Draco leaned over to look at the section to which Vinny had pointed. He read the section, understanding it clearly, then re-read it through a Vinny-and-Greg lens. 

"Okay, this, see?" He pointed. "This is different because _Lapifors_ transfigures a target, which could be anything, instead of a transfiguration of one specific thing into another specific thing." He flipped a few pages back, making sure Greg was listening too. "Read through this again where it explains how this is possible by a basic understanding of your objective and recalling the facts of the rabbit you'll change it into."

Both of his friends grunted in acceptance and set about reading where he told them.

He went back to the list he was making of his symptoms.

 _Water_ _  
_ _Thirst_ _  
_ _Fever_ _  
_ _Water_ _  
_ _Dry skin_ _  
_ _Joint aches_ _  
_ _Headaches_ _  
_ _Skin discomfort_ _  
_ _Water_ _  
_ _Leg and arm cramps_ _  
_ _Sharpened sense of smell_ _  
_ _Vision and hearing fluctuation_  
_Maybe magical senses too_ _  
(Possible insanity)_

He sighed, closing his eyes and trying to think of any more.

Really, he guessed, they started over the summer. That was when the cramps started anyway. He assumed they were growing pains, as he had a lot of them in third year. They kept increasing over time, however, and it became clear they were muscle cramps, not growing pains. They had eased off the past couple of months, and he hadn't one since before the Yule Ball.

He circled that one and noted they went away around the time he began what he privately called his "drinking problem", mildly thinking of his mother with elf-wine and his father with Firewhsikey.

His, of course, was bloody, blasting _water._

"Draco," Greg said, "how does having a better understanding of the rabbit help?"

Draco blinked up from his thoughts. Remembering where he was, he answered clearly, "This is more advanced—the next step. Before, we had an equal understanding of what the object is and will be. In order to transfigure multiple things into one thing each, if you have a more in-depth understanding of what it will be—the rabbit—so, you won't need as much understanding of the first object."

"Why can't we have a list of things this transfiguration will work on, and learn it the old way?" Vinny asked.

Draco grinned, feeling fond. "Because that's what we did last year for you. This second round, we have to try to learn it properly because you don't know what the thing will be ahead of time."

"Back to the theory then," Greg grumbled. Vinny joined in the sentiment.

Draco consulted his _Introduction into Healing,_ dipped his quill in his ink and made some lines, connecting his symptoms that were more commonly related to each other. He frowned at it. The only ones that made sense were the ones suggesting he had a cold, flu, or something else mundane. Something Pepper-Up would solve. It left out the worst of them.

He could do a test, he decided, much like the disaster with Madam Pomfrey's potion was, in a way. He was clearly dehydrated, but a hydrating potion made him sick. He noted that down as a symptom, too, and decided that the following weekend, he would ask Professor Snape for some Pepper-Up instead. See what effect that had.

He rubbed his forehead, a headache coming back. It was generally a headache first before everything else started up.

"So," Vinny hedged, "for this theory… it's only living objects that can be transfigured."

Draco's lips gave a reluctant smile, feeling proud of his friend. "For this, yes."

They both nodded to him and began writing more on their essay. Draco watched them fondly a moment. Transfiguration was their absolute worst subject.

He returned to his notes, another possible symptom nagging at his brain. He kept trying to dismiss it because he never heard of anything like it, but now that he could really admit to himself that he had something _wrong_ , something more than just a passing illness, he had to consider it.

When he was in the peak of being uncomfortable, being terribly thirsty, and hot, and itchy, and sore, and obsessed with water, and all things, it felt like he had less access to his magical core. He got tired a lot more easily—

He added ' _fatigue'_ to his symptoms.

—almost like using magic drained him faster when he was like that. As if using magic worsened his state. 

Merlin, he felt insane just thinking about it, but there were serious conditions witches and wizards could get that affected their magic, their magical performance, or their magic getting sick itself. Rare, but possible.

A lot of those could be ruled out, though. He wasn't bitten by anything, he knew. He hadn't swapped fluids with anyone, blood or otherwise being a virgin. He could have been cursed, but how? Why? When?

He wanted to bring his list to Madam Pomfrey, but Merlin, she really didn't like him. He didn't think she would take him seriously.

He would write to his parents, but… they had been acting strangely, lately. They were really stressed about something, though he had no idea what. A lot of the teachers seemed to be too. It was like something was in the air. He would have dug to try to find out why, but he had his own problems.

Draco stopped Greg from doodling, read over what Vinny had written, then set them about reading another section for what should come next in the essays. Depressed from the Healing books, his eyes started to wander instead.

Across the library, Potter seemed to be in the same frame of mind, looking around, and their eyes locked. Draco raised a cool eyebrow at him, and Potter scowled and looked back down at the book in front of him. Potter, Weasley, and Granger seemed to be studying, and he knew it bugged Potter when they were in the library at the same time. It was never more than the exchange they just had—in truth, Potter probably didn't give them much notice, but when he did, it was satisfying. 

Stupid Potter. Stupid Potter, with his stupid face, and stupid glasses, and stupid scar, and stupid hair, and stupid eyes, and stupid skin, and stupid arse, and stupid fitted robes, with his stupid morals, stupid voice, stupid stubbornness, stupid talent, stupid...

His eyes landed next on Pansy a few tables over who was staring dreamingly at Draco. He held in a grimace as she waved at him and acknowledged her with slightly waved fingers. Stupid Pansy, too, being a stupid girl with her stupid blooming chest and stupid mother-henning and stupid smell and her stupid _girl of it_ —if she wasn't—

He stopped himself from finishing that thought. Oh yes, the avoidance bin in his mind was quite full.

Sighing, he went back to his reading, hating himself that he already marked the month his supposed symptoms started, which was over the summer, meaning Potter probably wasn't the one to curse him. He idly wondered if he could still somehow make all of it Potter's fault.

Probably. He had to figure out what it was first though.

His head pounded and his eyes blurred when he tried to focus on his book. For a moment, it felt and sounded like his pulse was in his ears. He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head.

"Are we going to be rabbits? Or other students?" Vinny asked. 

Draco bit back a groan, cracking his neck. The skin pulled tight, uncomfortable, and for a moment, it was like his lungs had to remember to accept oxygen. "I don't think so. Professor McGonagall will probably just bring in owls or cats or something for the practical."

Greg mumbled something that sounded like a complaint about not liking cats. Draco's fingers twitch to reach for his travel goblet. Just thinking about it made his mouth go dry, and he consciously told himself not to lick his lips. 

Licking his lips, as though wetting them with his own silva, always made them dry faster.

He pulled Vinny's essay over when he saw him copying from a wrong page, spelling the paragraph away and pointing him to the right passage. Draco began shaking his leg, watching and nodding in approval as Vinny dutifully began copying.

He cracked his neck again, feeling more uncomfortable. Scratchings of quills were starting to grate his nerves. His arms were itchy, and his toes were sore for some reason—not actually the muscles, maybe his nails? He blinked a few more times, willing the blurriness from his eyes, willing himself to read. Some people were whispering, and why did some people have to turn pages so loudly?

Why did they have to throw books down—surely Madam Pince would put a stop to that—and whatever happened to the art of walking quietly, or not dripping ink on parchment so that it sounded like it was pouring rain, and—

"Oh, Dray, your hands are so dry."

Draco jumped sky-high, making an indignant squawk at the voice suddenly to his right and hands on his. It was Pansy Parkinson, who had apparently slipped into the seat next to him. She stared at him with wide, shocked eyes. In embarrassment, Draco glanced around him, seeing several students watching them. He felt his face heat.

"Pardon me," he said, smoothing down his tie.

"Didn't mean to scare you," Pansy purred. Or, he was pretty sure she thought she purred. Her voice was always so high-pitched, it sounded more like a suspended squeal. "I have some potion that can help."

"What?"

"Your hands," she smiled at him, reaching for his hand again. He watched as she smoothed her palm across the back of his. It was indeed dry. His head pounded.

"Erm," he cleared his throat, gently taking his hand back. "Thanks, but no thanks. I have my own. Well, boys?" Draco addressed Vinny and Greg who were still frowning at their textbooks. "That should be good enough for tonight, yeah?"

"Thank god," Greg groaned, slamming his book shut. The noise made Draco wince a little.

"Right, we must be off," Draco smiled at Pansy, quickly gathering his things.

"Oh, I can come—" 

"Boy-business," Draco interrupted her. He ignored her disappointed pout. "See you."

Draco rushed out of the library, only slowing when he was in the corridor, knowing Vinny and Greg would catch up eventually.

He let out a slow breath.

Pansy was getting harder to get rid of. He had predicted this when she kissed him at the Yule Ball, but it didn't make it any easier. He had been happy to go along with it. She was tolerable, after all, and very entertaining. He knew she cared for him too. His parents didn't much care what he got up to during school, as long as he knew that after schooling was finished, he was to marry a respectable pureblood witch. 

That, and as long as he didn't embarrass them, such as jumping so obviously into bed with someone and becoming the butt of gossip.

"Some _one_ ," he snorted to himself.

Pansy had seemed like a safe option, before. He wasn't going to take anyone to the Ball, especially after he heard Potter hadn't gotten a date. He figured if Potter was good enough to go stag, so was Draco. Then at the last minute, he heard Potter had asked that Indian twin, so it was more or less a last-minute decision on Draco's part.

Pansy had been holding out for him, after all. And she was dense enough to believe him if he said he wanted to wait for physical stuff until he was married, and smart enough to leave it well alone. 

It was tolerable. Or, used to be.

He scratched at his itchy arm, watching as small flecks of skin danced off him and floated to the floor.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!! Please forgive or point out any mistakes as this does not have a beta. Yes, I absolutely take constructive criticism, all I ask is to please be kind. Also, I love when readers get involved and love incorporating their ideas as well as fixing/editing scenes when something doesn't work right. So, if I'm lucky enough to inspire any ideas or daydreams of this, feel free to share them, and I will do my best to add them in!
> 
> Stay safe out there. 2020 is making us her bitch, that's for damn sure.


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